


if i pulled you closer, would you

by secretsarenotforfree



Category: Cloak & Dagger (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Tyrone Johnson is hot and Tandy knows it, can you blame her??, evita is mentioned but she's not really in this, pining kinda but mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 06:56:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20372566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsarenotforfree/pseuds/secretsarenotforfree
Summary: She had been starved for it, she eventually pieced together over the past week or two with a horrified sort of revelation, but he wasn't a thing she was allowed to be this deeply needing. Tandy knew that too.Tandy was clean after all; she's said goodbye to pale powders and whatever smoke was offered to fill her lungs.She couldn’t afford another addiction.





	if i pulled you closer, would you

**Author's Note:**

> idk most of what this is is in the tags...i started this weeks ago?? and then restarted it because my brain grabbed onto another direction and here we are. i'e been up since six am and my brain is beyond blearly but i wanted to get this posted. also this is set between seasons one and two. 
> 
> someone stop me from writing smut for them.
> 
> title is from 'would you mind' by prettymuch

Blame it on their discovery.

Blame it on the fact that after they’d figured out how to reign in their powers, how to concentrate on her light and his darkness and not explode away from each other, she couldn't stop thinking about what it meant. What had changed for them.

Now that they’d begun to learn how to get it under control, with the humid wash of the Louisiana air touching their skin, flat on their backs with their hands locked, she’d been fascinated. Enraptured by the thought that after so long, she was finally allowed to touch his skin. 

They’d moved him into the church, fully, a few weeks ago and he’d left behind some messages so that his parents knew he was at least alive, and for the time being, safe, and were finally taken a breather. It wasn’t exactly a _ cool _ thought, the ones running through her mind as her honey brown eyes traced his form, how much she wanted to indulge herself, and for that reason more than most Tandy kept it to herself. Tandy Bowen did not fawn over anyone, even things she’d been denied for far too long. Tyrone Johnson wasn’t her boyfriend, he was her friend, but something about their easy silence in the slight must of the church told her, as her body had since their first remeeting, that maybe he was something more.

She couldn't keep her eyes off his skin. The expanse of it, dark and smooth and she imagined, a different feeling than the pads of calloused from basketball hands. Her knees are drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, and her head is tilted to the side. Riveted on the expanse exposed by the black sleeveless tee Tyrone wore as he made up his bed, the confident swells of biceps and forearms, Tandy _ hungered _.

She had been starved for it, she eventually pieced together over the past week or two with a horrified sort of revelation, but he wasn't a thing she was allowed to be this deeply needing. Tandy knew that too.

Tandy was _ clean _ after all; she's said goodbye to pale powders and whatever smoke was offered to fill her lungs.

She couldn’t afford another addiction.

Even if it was Tyrone.

Her only friend.

(Becoming her best friend)

(Possibly scarier than how much she needed to skate her fingertips across every inch of him that he'd allow)

"You're still practicing your powers, right?"

It's a sudden question, Tandy knows, but with the exposed shoulder her oversized grey tee shows and her still long hair, this girl doesn't seem to care how out of the blue it sounds. The wounded thing limping in her chest, injured and still occasionally beating red with anger and hurt, still needs Tyrone’s help to care.

Tyrone smooths out his pillowcase and makes his way back to her, dropping the frame a few inches taller than her onto the step. He's still elegant how he does it, practiced and sure, and it's such a contrast to the second guessing Tandy knows is going on often behind his head. There's a foot of space between them but his mouth watering coffee scent still reaches her nose, even as he scrubs a hand over his short black hair. There's a furrow in his brow at her question, but there's no hesitation in his answer. "Of course. I don't know if you've heard, but I've suddenly found myself with a lot of free time."

“Cool. Same here.” Tandy swings her legs over towards him and locks light brown eyes with his dark own, not able to quite ask the eagerness she feels about what she’s about to propose to him. “We should see. If we can still keep ourselves from being flung into the opposite wall.”

She waits patiently as the gears turn in Tyrone’s head. She wants him to say yes. She needs an excuse. Because otherwise, she guesses she'll just _keep _feeling this way because she needs Ty's permission for something like this, always. Even if she doesn't want to ask for it.

(_ Please. Even if I don’t know why I need it so badly. _)

Tandy doesn’t know what causes his small nod, but she’s grateful to whatever was behind it. She scoots forward til the tips of their shoes are touching and quietly rejoices the fact that he’s wearing only compression and gym shorts with his sleeveless tee. “Where do you want to start?”

“Hands.” A slight smirk curves her pink lips. “Unless you want me to poke your cheek and see if it gives you a black eye.”

Tyrone rolls his eyes but she’s growing used to the exasperated grin that usually follows. (She’s beginning to think it’s cute. She doesn’t allow herself to dwell on that fact.) “Okay, fine. Hands it is.”

The elbow resting on bent, slimly corded knees extends his hand towards hers, and Tandy mirrors his movements, her gaze trained on his palms and long, deft fingers. She’d seen those fingers cupping the burnt orange surface of a basketball, clutched in the fabric of his brothers sweatshirt, wrapped around the trigger of a gun. She’d also seen them stretched caringly around Evita’s face, shea butter against cocoa brown, but thats a thought chased from her head when she’s concentrated on keeping the blinding white tendrils of her powers under control.

(Evita is very, very far from her mind.)

(She’s less interested in what Tyrone’s fingers do to Evita. She’s much more concerned about what they do to her.)

Tyrone’s eyes are heavy lidded in that way he gets when he’s focused and single minded, and even though she sees and is more than aware of the plumes of charcoal colored smoke coming from his palm, she isn’t afraid. She never is, when she’s with him.

A breath of an inch, and they make it. Like a flame that’s lost its oxygen, or a blanket thrown over a light, the contrasting shades of their powers dissipate. They’re palm to palm, fingers to fingers, and quietly Tandy marvels at the difference in their sizes. Where her fingertips stop, his continue for a bit more than a half inch, and she discovers that his palms are scored with five rough callouses. A cushy life can’t hide the body marks that sports grants you, and the evidence of them scratches against Tandy’s unmarked, lift-purses fingers. The image brings to mind a long dregged memory from the Disney movies she used to watch with her mom in better days, and Tandy cracks a smile.

“Me Tarzan, you Jane.” She says, and the husky laugh Tyrone lets out in response is a victory she’s proud to feel. 

“Now what?” He asks, somewhat bemused, not moving his hand against hers. She doesn’t want to move her hand (likes the feelings of his more than she’d like to admit), but the part of her that genuinely wants to test it out makes her move it back. She loses the physical knowledge of his presence when she drops her hand, but she feels it still. She doesn’t know if its because their powers are so intertwined and near codependent, but she can almost always feel Tyrone’s presence these days. On some level, she’s sure Tyrone feels the same, because he’s been able to cloak to her location without her giving him any hints before. 

(And she hasn’t forgotten their first conversation in the church. _ Keeps leading you back to that cop. Or you. _)

“You’re the scientist, Mr. Johnson. How do experiments get conducted?” One golden brow raises, but she doesn’t change the way her body is leaning towards his. For all that she’s generally not allowed herself to be affected about it, the fact remains that she dropped out of school just shy of finishing her freshman year of high school. With the amount of times she’d skipped in middle school, it was a miracle that she’d made it that for, but she remained a quick study. Poring over her fathers research had given her a decent grasp of what he’d been working on, but she was missing a few of the building blocks.

“With a hypothesis, Miss Bowen,” Tyrone teases her right back. There’s a flare of excitement in her chest with the way he says it, but Tandy ignores it. (Like everything she doesn’t want to think about). “Hands were easy enough, Is it easier over clothing?” Quicker than she has time to react, the hand that had been pressed against her own grasped her bare ankle, close to her equally bare feet. “If I tickle you -” and here the little shit _ actually tickled the sole of her foot _, causing her to yelp and burst into laughter because dammit her prickly exterior can’t cover how ticklish she truly is “- and you’re too distracted to concentrate, am I going to get thrown across the room?”

If Tyrone isn’t careful he’s going to get a Tandy foot to the face but even with her ribs shaking from laughter as she tries to squirm away, their powers seem to be settled and content. “Stop it! Ty, fuck you, let me go -” she dissolves into giggles, trying to use her leverage to pull back, but she’s unsucessful until he gamely releases her.

The relaxed and warm smiles on both of their faces don’t go away though, and Tandy feels lighter than she thought possible, something she only gets when she’s in Tyrone’s company. She doesn’t have a clue what it is about him that makes everything better, but she doesn’t care.

“Okay, fine. My turn.” Switching her position around, she grabs at both of his wrists, keeping them from tickling her again. In her grasp, he turns his palms up in the international sign for surrender, and sits back. Letting her do whatever she wanted to him, a decidedly dangerous allowance, but when he’d mostly been allowing since she’d crashed back into his life.

He trusts her irrevocably, and she isn’t entirely sure he really should, but she strives hard to be worthy of it. She knows she doesn’t have to - even with his gripes, Tyrone’s never asked her to be anything other than who she is (specifically, the best version of herself he seemed to see and she never caught a glimpse of when he wasn’t around, his voice echoing in her head), and she’s grateful for it. But she also wants to deserve it.

She sure as hell has done nothing in her life to deserve him.

Tsking under her tongue to tell him he better keep his hands to himself this time, Tandy shifts on her bent knees and releases one wrist, poking him in the cheek. He doesn’t wince, just sits there with that boyish, ridiculously charming grin that makes Tandy feel confused and warm, so she ignores the flush that rises in her cheeks (it’s the _ summertime _ in _ Louisiana _, so sue her) and places her hands on both of his cheeks. Squishing them together, she proudly takes his “Tan, stop it," coupled with a warm chuckle slightly rounded by her manipulating his face, and Tandy shushes him with a fakely serious draw together of her brows.

"Just let it happen, Ty." She admonishes gently, and smushes them one more for good measure.

(Damn him. He's still handsome, with those too perfect cheekbones poking into her palms and the thick lashes that brush silky wings against the edge of her thumbs.) 

Pulling away from him almost as if her attraction to him didn’t burn her skin, Tandy pokes up at down as his exposed arms and refrains from touching his neck, where she’s been fascinated with for far too long, eventually sitting back in a show of satisfaction. She wasn’t, not really, but all the ways she wanted to she really couldn’t. It wasn’t her place. It was someone elses, or at least not something she’d been given. “Okay, so I think we can say we don’t have that problem anymore.”

“Good to know.” There’s an unreadable look in Ty’s dark eyes, but he doesn’t bring it up anymore than she does (which is, not as all). “You think we’re going to find more things out the more time goes past?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs, because it would be cool, but she’s pretty damn proud of the powers that she’s got as it is. “Guess we’ll have to see.”

Even when she left the church, later that day, she hadn’t been able to push those increasingly curious thoughts out of her head. Sure, she’d gotten her hands in them, but there remained questions, ones that rocked around in her mind when she got home and pressed her back against the door, cold keys still in her hand while she shut her eyes.

She hadn’t touched his neck. Strong, columned, that adams apple bobbing in brown velvet skin.

(Did it bruise like hers did? Tandy doubted it. She gained marks like a peach, dark purple and grey on freckled skin. She’d never even tried to hide the hickeys Liam had given her, even if they’d made her feel dirtier than the drugs ever did. He was trying to mark her as his, because he knew she never truly was. Harsh sucks of his mouth, scratched around by messy stubble, ignoring the sunken shadows under her eyes and the red streaked eyes. She danced out of the grasp of anyone that tried to keep a hold of her, because she couldn’t bear the vulnerability. No one got to see her ugly, broken parts.

No one except Ty, no matter how hard she tried to hide them from him.

Maybe Evita wasn’t the type to stake her claim that way. 

Rich colors, blooming against Tyrone’s collarbone, encouraged by a bitten off smile and noises she spent altogether too much time imagining.)

_ Hers _, her light whispers.

_ Not yours _, her mind growls, and Tandy’s eyes flash open, pushing off the wall and heading to her bedroom, but her mind refuses to get distracted. What would his arms feel like, wrapped around her? What would his breath feel like, each puff a confirmation that she hadn’t dreamed him, an air of life against her lips.

Is it hot in here, or is it just her? She checks, but the window unit is still blowing out air, dust on the ridges and altogether too far from her extra long twin bed. She doesn’t bother to turn out the light, but she does shut her door, locking it out of habit, and collapses in bed. Moonlight slides through the shades over the unit and provides no relief to the sluggish, unrelieved want building in her center.

This _ wasn't _the plan - no really, it wasn't, but far be it from Tandy to deny herself something she wants and in this case, can't possibly hurt her, and she rips off her tight jeans skirt in a fit of frustration. 

It's too much.

(It's not enough)

She curls onto her bed, shuts her eyes, divested of the often annoying bra and in a comfy light blue tank top that's seen better days, but closing her eyes doesn't make the images going through her mind melt away. If anything, the lack of visual stimuli has her brain setting back, stretching it's fingers and going _ no worries, I got this _with her treacherous ovaries cheering it on. 

(Was he vocal? When he was touched? When it was about pleasure and not exploration - okay, maybe a little bit of exploration, where the hands she'd pressed her own against but an hour ago slid down her body, cupped the heart of her, steady and wondering. Ty struck her as the type to be good at it, the damn boy was frustratingly talented at anything he out his mind to, and she was under no such illusion that he hadn't had girlfriends before. Tandy didn't know how, but she knew without a doubt he'd be talented. And if he wasn't, she could teach him. She knew for _ sure _choir boy was a good student.)

The blonde flops onto her back, eyes still closed, drumming the pads of her fingers on the slope of her waist with a bit of a growl at the images still burned into her brain.

How _ dare _Tyrone's shoulders be so broad?

How _ dare _his lips look so pillow soft?

(How _ dare _she think of them?)

(Is she even allowed to?)

Tandy doesn't think so. But goddammit, one more time breaking the rules wouldn't kill her. Even if it would make it awfully hard to dispel the thoughts the next time they trickled into her mind, as smoky and desirous as the man himself.

It's her that swollen bud of nerves, by now desperate for attention, that her left hand drifts too. Blunt nails stroke her, making her shiver, and the full lips dancing behind her closed lids pull into a full smile. _ Ty's _ smile, teeth pressed into bottom lip, bashful and charmed and sure, and Tandy can't help the hitch in her breathing. So far away he affects the rise and fall of her lungs and when the other hand focuses on giving her inner muscles something to clench around the blonde casts her mind far from there to the thought of it being _ him _ instead.

Ty, kissing down her thigh, love marks dotting the corded slant of her throat that she had put there.

Ty, chin dropped to his chest as he struggled to keep himself together, expletives dropping in that low, low voice while she acquainted herself with what she'd glimpses as hiding in his compression shorts.

Ty, moaning as she dragged her tongue in a slow slide from tip to base, batting molten honey eyes and being the shameless tease she truly was.

Ty, the person probably asleep in his bed right now, completely unaware that his best friend was masturbating to him while the power lines sparked in her neighborhood and she continues unawares, pink lips slightly open, the echo of his name on her tongue.

Although she's quiet, this time, shuddering as the crook of her two fingers and the image of Tyrone in her mind fling her off that cliff, the orgasm is far from so, a heated, mind blowing wave that starts at her brain and washes down her body like a storm she couldn't even control. The force of her orgasm is enough so she is still sensitive, whimpering his name as she coaxes herself through the aftershocks, pleasure ebbing through her weighted golden thighs and curled tight toes, mind floating and free on the waves of pleasure. Something shimmers under her skin, an after effect of her powers she's never bothered to control, and it makes her body glow the slightest bit, a light satiated by the dark.

After something like that, sleep comes easily, and Tandy doesn't have a clue that she'd blown the power grid of the next neighborhood over and it stayed down for an hour or two.

(She'd leave the guilt for another day, the blonde had reasoned after she'd washed her hands on wobbly feet and collapsed into bed, mind hazy with thoughts of that beautiful black man and what the thought of him did to her.)

  
  
  


In the church miles away, Tyrone jerks awake from one of the most vivid sex dreams he'd ever had, sweat dampening the width of his shoulders and the dip of his collarbone. He scrubs at his eyes, but the mental picture is still there - Tandy, naked but a tank top, coming on her hand with her fingers buried deep inside herself and crying out his name. 

Can't be real. Just can't be. 

But fuck. _ What if. _

(Was the best dream he'd had in ages by a long damn shot.

He lets himself want it to happen again.)

**Author's Note:**

> (where the fuck is my season three renewal news)


End file.
